The Breaking Point
by itsmuse
Summary: Richard Winters had faith in God, had respect for women, enjoyed the little things life offered him making the best out of them; Richard Winters didn't like alcohol, or the smell cigarettes left on the clothes; Richard Winters was a farm boy, who had entered the Army because his Country needed him. But Richard Winters doesn't exist anymore, and Lewis Nixon misses him a lot.


_This is a short story I wrote, inspired by ''Why we fight'', when Lewis Nixon has a bad time. __I imagined how it would've been like Richard Winters reaching the famous breaking point. Actually, this story may portrait Nixon and Winters' friendship that I really admire, but it's kinda hard to do, since I think the bound they share is inexplicable. Anyway, I tried to. Actually, I think I failed to hahah. _**_Ps. I'm Italian so English is not my first language, so I'm sorry for the mistakes._**

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It's not like the bond the other men share. It's not like the others think. Lewis and Dick are not so close as the others believe. Dick thinks it's his fault. It's just him. Although he would've bet he didn't behave in that way before the war, Dick noticed something changed about him. He didn't want to write letters back home anymore; it's not he didn't care, but he just didn't know what to say. All the things he lived there, in France, in Holland and now in Belgium, were already known in the States thanks to the newspapers. There was not something more he wanted to communicate; sure, his life was all but boring. But how could he explain the cold he felt in his bones, his men's blood on his hands, the hunger that was literally devouring his stomach, to someone who had never seen the reality of war? He knew what the newspapers wrote about it. _''The great generation, these brave soldiers, our sons, are fighting for freedom; they are heroes'' _bla bla bla. Dick was sure none of his men thought of himself as a hero, especially at that point; blood was simply too much: their blood, the Krauts' blood, that kid's blood…

Dick didn't want to communicate. How could he open up in that cold? And he felt so guilty, since he was leaving his best friend out of his life.

It was in the way Lewis looked at him, and in the way Dick used to look at him, once. Lewis did not lose his faith in Richard Winters, and he kept looking at him in that way. Anyway, something had changed. Before Bastogne, Lewis would've looked at Dick, with bright eyes, a chuckle on his lips, that silently whispered: _this war is hell, but we're still together. I'm here with you, you're here with me. We're gonna make it through this day, and the other, and the other. I'll take you to Chicago. I promise. _Lewis had still faith, and still dreamt to go to Chicago, with his best friend: just a trip, as normal boys, because boys was what they were. His dream kept him alive. Things had changed, and it was Dick's fault. It was cold, so cold that day, and Lewis felt the snow filling him completely when his best friend said: _Lew, promise me I won't reach the breaking point; in that case, just kill me. _Lewis didn't answer back, just waiting for his friend to give a sense to his words; a sense that didn't come. The chuckle from Lewis' lips disappeared gradually, his dark eyes started to be even darker. Lewis knew Dick needed space, but when they were in their foxhole, so close Lewis could hear Dick's heartbeat in his throat, he could not help but hugging him closer, to make him feel there was life in that foxhole; Lewis arms wrapping Dick completely communicated unspoken words: _let me in, please Dick, let me in. _But Dick didn't want to communicate. He didn't want Lewis in. He didn't want anyone.

He started to feel his men so distant. They were not his men anymore. He was not a brother, but a father, watching over his little babies, struggling whatever one of them fell. And they fell, they fell as trees in that dell. And Dick was struggling. And he was far away from home; and far away from Lewis. And far away from life. He knew it was his fault.

Lewis knew he would've not let him in, and lost his faith. Dick felt so useless: he had let his best friend down. They still spent their night in their foxhole, but now, even if they were so close, Dick felt an ocean was diving them. Lewis would've not wrapped his arms around Dick anymore. Dick knew he didn't deserve Lewis' closeness, and that he was sick and tired of him. Nevertheless, he needed something to fill him.

Richard Winters had faith in God, had respect for women, enjoyed the little things life offered him making the best out of them; Richard Winters didn't like alcohol, or the smell cigarettes left on the clothes; Richard Winters was a farm boy, who had entered the Army because his Country needed him, and because his men needed him; Richard Winters had faith in his cause.

Captain Winters could not explain himself how God could want all of this: are these men as His Son that he sacrificed to redeem the mankind? They were just kids, for God's sake! Kids! And he was too, and he didn't know what the hell he was doing there anymore, and one night he found himself cursing at the sky. Captain Winters didn't enjoy the simple things anymore since he rejected the only good thing he had there: Lewis, and nothing made sense anymore; and food was never enough, and the sheets of paper to write to the kids' parents those stupid letters saying that their sons died as heroes were never enough as well.

Dick had sent Doc Roe to Bastogne, to get some morphine, some bandage, that they needed more than food itself. Dick said he would've gone with him back in town. Once arrived, the good doc went to the aid station and Dick decided to lose his respect for women.

Ugly as sin, she was touching him; Dick didn't mind, he just felt the need to be touched again, but he had become so selfish he would've touched her back. He looked at her with disrespect, disgust and hate. But she was too busy to do what she was paid for to notice. And he called her _whore_, but she didn't mind. And then he said _die_, but that was for him. In another day, he would've sent his money back home, because his parents needed it so much. But he was not a farm boy anymore, he was a Captain, a soldier, and all he knew was violence and obscenity, so he decided to waste all his money with that ugly woman who was sucking what was left of his life out of him. _Don't dare to bite me_, he barked to her. And he runt his fingers over her head, urging her to swallow him. Then he got back to the front.

Those death letters were waiting to be written, and he could not make them wait ! _''Dear father, dear mother, dear sister, dear brother, dear whatever you are, I would like to inform you that your son, brother or whatever he is, has lost his life. And yes, it's all your fault, you should've not let him go. Cheers.'' _ And he was so satisfied with himself, writing those words. Truth is out! And Lewis noticed it, that naughty, mean and broken smile on his friend's face. Lewis was disgusted.

That night, Lewis decided to spend his night away from Dick, but he had left his Vat69 in his foxhole. What he found, was a Dick Winters who was furiously scratching his own arm with a branch. Lewis took that branch away, sat close to Dick and medicated him. Dick was trembling like a child, and Lewis was sure he would've asked for his mum soon. Nixon looked deeply in his friend's eyes, and saw the meaning of war inside of him. Lewis saw his friend's pureness corrupted, and he saw a devil kicking a little boy, with red hair, blue eyes, crying.

''Hey Dick, hey'' he whispered to him tenderly ''look at me, listen. I'm so cold, would you help me?''

Dick looked at him, and he felt so ashamed for what he had done. For the first time in weeks, he said a silent prayer to God, not to ask for redemption: he just wanted Lewis to not see what he had become. But Lewis knew, and he was scared as hell because his friend was a demon. But Lewis was a soldier, and a great one, and a true soldier fights against the evil.

''D'you remember when I used to hug you close, because you were so damn cold? Please Dick, hug me'' and Lewis saw a light in Dick's eyes, and he felt his own heart melting at the view. He was finally talking to Richard Winters. ''Dick, I need you here, to stay with me. Please Dick, stay with me. I need you.''

And Dick knew Lewis was troubled as hell, more than he was. And it was his fault. Dick wrapped his arms around Lewis, and leant his head against his shoulder. There was no blood on his hand, only a Harshey bar Lewis gave to him.

Humans need certainties. Dick was Lewis' one, and now Dick knew. He knew he owed so much to Lewis. From that day, Dick would've hugged Lewis every night.


End file.
